When The Eagles Came Back
by LuteofLorien
Summary: A Legolas-centric reflection on the aftermath of the Battle of the Black Gate, as he finds his unique place helping Frodo and Sam and supporting Aragorn as he heals them.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N A speculation on Frodo and Sam's return to their friends. Rated for descriptions of injury just to be safe. The inspiration for this one came from the amazing 'Of Cabbages and Kings' by Lamiel. If you haven't read it yet, then seriously, stop what you're doing, this fic can wait, go and read it right now: s/5282099/1/Of-Cabbages-and-Kings_

 _It's a really profound reflection on the similarities between Legolas and Sam, which got me thinking about the things Legolas and Frodo share, and that train of thought eventually led me here. Most of the Legolas and Frodo material came out in the second chapter. From there it kind of spiralled out into the encounters with Aragorn and Sam in the first chapter. My thanks to Lamiel for your incredible writing which has helped to inspire my own!_

 **Disclaimer:** I gain no profit from this apart from the pleasure of spending time with these wonderful characters I do not own.

When the Eagles Came Back

Of course, it was those two who were waiting when the eagles came back.

Legolas had seen them first, whilst helping a company of the West to guard a group of surrendered Haradhrim. After checking with the captain that the situation was under control, he sped back across the battlefield, vaulting over the corpses of orcs and trolls, streaking past bewildered stretcher bearers who were picking their way slowly across the field. It was all he could do to focus his mind on the task in hand, to stop it repeatedly asking the question he knew he could not answer.

 _Where is Gimli?_

They had become separated in the final push and he had not seen the dwarf since the end of the battle. He longed for the chance to scour the battlefield inch by inch and find him, but he knew that his duty to the Ringbearers and to Aragorn now took priority. Centuries of military training taught him to push the emotion to the corners of his mind and concentrate on getting back to Aragorn, but of all the times when he had had to put duty above the knowing about the welfare of his comrades, this was the hardest.

Darting through the throng of people surrounding the commander and king, he eventually attracted Aragorn's attention.

'Aragorn! The eagles!' and he pointed to where the black specks were beginning to appear on the edges of mortal sight.

Aragorn nodded to Éomer, who had agreed to take over the military command when this moment came, then turned back to Legolas.

'Let's go.'

And they ran.

Aragorn had already ordered a private tent prepared and readied with healing materials in which the two Ringbearers could be tended, and they had found a spot close to it where the eagles could release their burdens. Legolas shot an arrow almost vertically into the sky to let Gandalf know where they were, snatched it elegantly from the air as it returned, and then all they could do was wait.

Legolas tried to catch his breath. Usually the short run would not have troubled him, but on the way Aragorn said that he had not yet seen Gimli, and the fear in his spirit was affecting his usually impeccable control over his body, despite his attempts to contain it. He concentrated on the eagles, and now he could make out the two grey bundles which were grasped in their claws, and Gandalf on Gwaihir's back.

'Estel,' he said quietly, unsure of why he was reverting to Aragorn's childhood name but somehow finding comfort in it, 'do you think that they survived it?'

The man beside him continued to stare intensely into the sky. 'You called me Estel,' he replied. 'A Ranger becomes King and two hobbits destroy the Ring of Power. There is always hope.'

The first descending eagle carried Frodo and released him from his talons into Aragorn's waiting arms. Legolas caught a glimpse of a blood-spattered arm before Aragorn strode off, quickly but calmly, towards the tent.

He ran forwards as his turn came and received Sam from the next eagle at the nadir of its swoop. He felt horror surge within him as he looked down into the once-familiar face, now covered in ash and grime, bloodied from a head wound above the left temple, and so thin and drawn. Sam had always been reassuringly solid, always encumbered with the heaviest pack, dependable and predictable. Legolas could not equate the stout hobbit he remembered with the fragile, broken body he now held in his arms. Taking all this in within a glance, he made towards the tent, moving as fluidly as he could so as not to cause any further injury, although he doubted that after being flown in the open air for miles it would even be possible to injure these hobbits further.

By the time he reached the camp bed which had been prepared for Sam, the tent was already a flurry of activity. The sweet, clear scent of athelas was rising from bowls next to each of the beds. Aragorn was positioned in the traditional elven healer's stance, one hand on Frodo's forehead and the other on his chest, and seemed deep in concentration, unaware of the Gondorian healer who was moving frenetically around him as he worked on Frodo's hand. Another healer by Sam's bed ran forward to help Legolas ease him down, and quickly began to check for signs of life. Within seconds, Gandalf was striding into the tent, and seeing Aragorn occupied with Frodo, he came over to Sam.

'He's breathing, but only just,' the healer reported to Gandalf, who nodded and assumed a stance similar to Aragorn's, closing his bright eyes and beginning to mutter. The healer began to move around him, quickly cutting away the torn rags which were all that remained of Sam's shirt.

Legolas stepped back to give them space to work, astonished by the resilience of this hobbit who had gone all the way to Orodruin and somehow managed to come back breathing. He felt like he was witnessing the workings of a cleverly crafted mechanism, and he was the only loose end. He desperately wanted to help but didn't want to disturb the rhythm of either pair of healers. Though he was trained in healing of most battle injuries- a given, living under the Shadow in Mirkwood- he doubted how far he could contribute to what the hobbits needed. He was a warrior who had somehow wandered into the unfamiliar territory of the healers' world and felt a little lost. Still, he decided to try.

'Can I do anything to help?' The healer working on Sam looked up in surprise, apparently having forgotten the elf who had brought his patient in.

'You're trained in healing, sir?'

'In treating common physical injuries, yes.'

'In that case, you could start cleaning and binding the wounds on his upper body, if you don't mind, sir.' Legolas gratefully took the cloth he was offered as the healer moved around Gandalf and started working on Sam's legs. Legolas allowed himself to take in the battlefield that was Sam's upper body for the first time, and for a moment was unsure where to start amidst of all the bruises, burns and cuts which covered it. Once again forcing himself to focus, blocking out the voice that was screaming at him to search for Gimli, he started with an ugly-looking gash on Sam's left shoulder and set to work.

As he worked his way through the myriad wounds on the chest, he noticed its rise and fall becoming gradually stronger, until Sam took a gasp and Gandalf started from his motionless state. He brushed Legolas aside as he reached underneath to support the hobbit's shoulders.

'That's right, Sam,' the wizard encouraged him, and then said without taking his eyes off the hobbit. 'Legolas, a bowl.'

He scanned the tent, his eyes searching frantically, saw a stack of bowls on the supply table and in an instant was holding one out to Gandalf. Sam was beginning to cough and splutter, and Gandalf was supporting him on his side as he moved pillows to beneath his head.

'Hold it by his mouth.'

Legolas was just in time to catch the awful grey sludge that Sam brought up in a convulsive retch.

'What is that?' He looked to Gandalf, horrified.

'Ash, mainly.' Gandalf looked grim as he rubbed Sam's back, but his voice was heartily reassuring as he addressed the hobbit. 'Come on, Sam, let's get that nasty stuff out of your system so we can replace it with some nice second breakfast, eh?'

The hacking coughs seemed to go on for an age, but at last they subsided, leaving Sam shivering and fighting for breath. Gandalf turned him and raised him slightly, then produced a vial of what Legolas immediately identified as _miruvor_ from its smell.

'He needs to get some strength back, after that.' But he struggled to still Sam's head long enough to administer it, until Legolas reached out a hand to the hobbit's cheek, steadying him.

'This was made by the elves, Sam. It's _miruvor._ It's elf-magic that will give you strength, like on Caradhras, you drank it and you were warm again, remember?'

Sam's head remained resting against Legolas' hand just long enough for Gandalf to work a few precious drops of liquid into his throat, and he began to shiver slightly less. When Legolas drew away, he realised that the healer, who was now spreading a poultice over Sam's badly burned feet, was looking up at him quizzically.

'He has a thing about elves,' he explained weakly.

The healer smiled. 'We should be alright then, seeing as you're here, sir.'

Legolas smiled back. 'I don't know. We travelled together for so long that I think he forgets I am one. I don't think I'm sufficiently exotic for him now he knows me as a person.'

The healer bent back over his task but said, 'perhaps you could remind him, sir?'

'Remind him of what?'

'That you're an elf, sir. I don't know, speak some of your elf-language to him or something. It might help.'

Slightly taken aback, and with his nerves more on edge than usual, Legolas restrained himself with great difficulty from snapping back _it's called Sindarin. And we also have a ceremonial language called Quenya, actually._ But he saw the healer's point, and as he resumed his task of binding Sam's wounds, he spoke to him softly in Sindarin.

'You have done so well, Sam. You did what you set out to do, and you stayed alongside Frodo right to the very end. He was so fortunate to have you by his side. When I go back to my father's court, the same court that Bilbo talked about in his tales, I will tell them how brave you were and all the elves there will sing songs about Samwise Gamgee, and Frodo, and the Ring. You're going to be in one of those elven stories you were always asking me to tell you. You should be very proud of yourself. I know I'm proud of you.'

He raised his head, having been absorbed in cleaning and bandaging a bad graze on Sam's forearm, and was pleased to see that the shivers had almost ceased, and that Sam was now quietly accepting something else that Gandalf was helping him to drink. His eyes met Gandalf's, the wizard's expression softened and he looked on the verge of saying something, but was interrupted by a guard looking in from the door and announcing an urgent message from the healing tents next door.

The messenger entered and addressed himself to Gandalf. 'They're overwhelmed in the healing tents, sir. There are too few healers for the number of casualties, and they're getting to some of the men too late. They need help.'

Legolas saw the healer he had been working with look up in consternation at this and took pity on him.

'Go. I can finish that.' He knelt by Sam's feet next to the healer. 'They just need bandaging now, yes?'

'Yes sir. That's all the more serious wounds dealt with once that's finished.' The healer handed over his bandages to Legolas, a new respect kindling in his eyes, and as he went he called back over his shoulder. 'The elf-language was very pretty, sir. And it calmed him down a good deal. Thank you.'

Legolas nodded to him, swallowing back the numerous responses he could have made to his native tongue being referred to as 'pretty,' and continued to bind the burns on Sam's feet. He sensed movement from the other side of the tent and saw the healer who had been working with Frodo speak quietly with Gandalf, and then follow his counterpart out of the tent. As he tied off the bandages, he looked over to the other bed, and noticed that Aragorn, though still in the healer's stance, was paling and starting to sway. His sprint across the tent was just in time to catch Aragorn as he staggered, helping him to regain his balance. Aragorn kept his hands firmly pressed to Frodo's head and chest and his eyes closed.

'Aragorn. That's enough. Come back now.' Despite his anxiety, Legolas spoke softly, low and commanding, trying to encourage Aragorn to withdraw from the trance himself rather than being pulled abruptly from it.

When Aragorn replied, his voice was breathy and seemed to be coming from a long way off. 'No. Can't leave. Nearly there. Just…hold me steady.'

Legolas' lips disappeared into a thin white line, but he knew that Aragorn's spirit was in a delicate position as it reached out to Frodo, and he could not call it back before Aragorn chose to. So, with one arm around Aragorn's chest and another under his elbow, Legolas held him upright. Aragorn weakened steadily, letting Legolas take more and more of his weight, until he sagged backwards into the waiting arms. At that moment, Frodo took a gasp and began to cough as Sam had done. Overwhelmed by competing claims on his attention, still including the unceasing worry about Gimli's whereabouts, Legolas looked over to Gandalf, but he was holding Sam, who had succumbed to another fit of coughing. Legolas quickly lowered Aragorn to the ground, leaning his back against Frodo's bedframe, and went to check for a pulse. When Aragorn, albeit half-heartedly, tried to swat his hand away, he was reassured enough, dashed for a bowl, and within seconds was supporting Frodo as he had seen Gandalf do for Sam, perching the bowl somewhat precariously on the edge of the bed while he held up Frodo's head in one hand and rubbed his back with the other. When he had processed what just happened, he took in for the first time the bruised and battered face of this hobbit who had borne the Ring and shuddered. He tried to keep his tone light as Frodo heaved up some of that terrible grey substance, mainly into the bowl but also a little over Legolas' hand.

'It's been a long time, Frodo. And this is how you choose to say hello? Is there a hobbit custom I don't know about?'

He tried very, very hard not to think about exactly what was on his hand and concentrated on keeping Frodo's airways open. He was so focused that he hardly noticed the guard announce another messenger until he heard the familiar stentorian voice.

'How do they fare? Do they live? Can Aragorn be spared?'

His eyes flew to the door and sure enough, there was the stout figure of Gimli, his chain mail spattered with blood and a bruise beginning to show on his arm, but very evidently alive. Gimli's eyes met his and for a moment they simply regarded each other in shock, hardly believing what they were seeing. Gimli recovered first.

'Oh. You're alive then, lad. That's good.'

Looking back, Legolas was unsure what he would have done in that moment had he not been otherwise engaged. He was torn between the conflicting desires to leap in the air and laugh in exultation, to sweep Gimli into a fierce hug, or to pounce on the dwarf, tackle him to the ground, and berate him for being so nonchalant after the last few hours of soul-rending anxiety. However, as it was, he was occupied in helping Frodo cough up what appeared to be half of Orodruin, so he tried to calm the tempest of emotion rising in his heart and settled with making a valiant attempt to sound equally casual.

'And unless I'm much mistaken, so are you. That's even better.'

Gandalf rose from where he had just settled Sam back down and strode across the tent, taking the bowl from Legolas, who yielded it immediately and went to wash his hands.

'They live, but they have suffered much, as you can see. What do you need Aragorn for?'

'Where is Aragorn? I thought he'd be here.'

A groan from the side of Frodo's bed answered Gimli's question, and Gandalf handed Legolas the vial of _miruvor_ , indicating Aragorn's slumped form with his head.

Legolas knelt beside him and made to press the vial to his lips, but Aragorn turned his head away and made a futile attempt to rise.

'For the patients,' he mumbled.

'Who need you on your feet, Aragorn,' Legolas retorted sharply, channelling his inner Thranduil and giving Aragorn such a look that he quailed and accepted the liquid without further resistance.

As Aragorn's eyes became focused again, Gimli said, 'if Aragorn can leave Frodo and Sam safely, Pippin needs him now. I just pulled him out from underneath a troll. He's alive, and the healers are doing what they can, but he needs the hands of the king.'

Aragorn punched the ground beside him feebly and gave a growl of frustration.

'So much need. No time. I can't-'

Legolas felt a memory flooding back to him, unbidden. His first encounter with Estel, while he was in Rivendell on ambassadorial business for Thranduil. A council meeting had finished late, and as he returned to his chambers he had spotted a tiny, shivering form on a window ledge and gone over to investigate. It had turned out to be Lord Elrond's six-year-old foster son, in an uneasy half-sleep. He had been very frightened when awakened by a stranger but after being convinced that Legolas was a friend, had eventually confessed that he liked to explore the house at night but had gone too far and had become too tired to go back. He had been so scared of what Elrond would say; apparently his habit of night-time ramblings had ended like this before. Legolas had wondered at this tiny child of the Edain, alone in the world of elves. He had carried him back to his bedroom, allowing the child to sleepily direct him, with a promise not to tell Elrond as long as it didn't happen again, and reassurances that everything would be fine in the morning. Looking at Aragorn now, clearly spent by the effort it had taken to bring Frodo back and burdened by his responsibilities, Legolas longed to do the same again, to carry him away to a place of rest and reassure him that everything would work itself out. But he reminded himself that he looked on the Estel who had become Elessar, now, and that his other friends were depending on the exhausted and overwhelmed man before him. So he placed both his hands on Aragorn's shoulders, looked straight into his eyes and said:

'Aragorn, son of Arathorn, listen to me. You have the hands of a healer and of a king. More importantly, you have the mind and spirit of one too. We all trust you to make this decision and to do what you need to do. We will do everything in our power to help. You can, and you will.'

Whether it was the _miruvor_ working its way into his system, Legolas' words, or both, Aragorn took a deep breath, and nodded. Legolas held out a hand to help him up, but he set his jaw, got to his feet unaided and began to move purposefully between Frodo and Sam, placing a hand on each forehead and concentrating deeply. He then addressed those anxiously watching him- Gimli was shifting from foot to foot, aware that time may be running out for Pippin.

'They both have enough strength for the next few hours, at least. I'll go to Pippin now.'

Gimli gave a sigh of relief and made for the exit. Aragorn turned to Legolas and Gandalf before he left.

'They're both dehydrated, so get some water inside them if you can, and keep them warm. They won't wake, but the nightmares will start and I have neither time nor strength to guide their sleep yet. Just watch over them and comfort them.'

'How?' Legolas was ashamed of the question, especially given his earlier words to Aragorn, but was suddenly terrified by the prospect of watching a hobbit tormented in dark nightmares and being helpless to stop it.

'Talk to them. They might not hear you, exactly, but they will sense the comfort of a familiar voice and soothing words. Sam will be easier. Just talk to him about the Shire, his Gaffer, his garden. Remind him of everything he loves and holds dear. I heard Merry teasing him about a girl, I think…'

'Rosie Cotton,' Gandalf chipped in.

'Alright. And Frodo?' Legolas urged.

Aragorn looked over his shoulder, being practically dragged away by a stressed and impatient Gimli.

'Frodo…just tell him there's hope.'

Legolas and Gandalf stood together for a moment.

'What hope is there for Frodo, Mithrandir?' Legolas asked quietly.

'The hope that remains for him is also yours, Legolas.'

Legolas was startled. 'What has my hope to do with anything?'

Gandalf sighed. 'Because of what he has borne, the Valar are calling Frodo as surely as they call you. Peace lies not in Middle Earth for either of you, but across the sea.'

Legolas shook his head. 'But…you know that I intend to stay.'

Gandalf looked back to Frodo, his expression dark. 'But can he?' Just then, Sam began to cry out, and Gandalf rushed to his side, leaving Legolas to keep watch over Frodo and ponder what he had said, whilst attempting to coax some water into the hobbit's parched throat.


	2. Chapter 2

In the battle and its aftermath, he had lost all sense of time. He didn't know how long he had been there, painstakingly giving Frodo the water, drop by single drop, opening the parched lips with all the care he could, but wincing in sympathy as they cracked and bled despite his efforts. When Frodo had taken half the tiny bottle, he stopped, deciding that going any further might exhaust his patient. By Sam's bed, he could see the kneeling figure of Mithrandir, his head bowed in concentration and his hands resting on Sam's head. He turned his eyes back to his own charge. Frodo was breathing heavily- breathing at least, he thought gratefully- and his face was still a terrible ashen grey, even though the grime of Mordor had been washed off by now. As he watched, Frodo became more and more agitated. He began to toss his head from side to side and whimpered softly, his eyes darting about frantically beneath his closed lids. Legolas took his uninjured hand and cradled it gently between his.

'Shhhhh,' he whispered, 'it's alright.'

 _It's alright. Is that all I have to offer him? Is that the best I can do?_

The words were inane and rang so, so hollow. Nothing about this was alright. The fact that this hobbit had had to travel halfway across the world carrying a burden that leached his very soul and then suffer the pain of losing it, along with one of his fingers, when the poison of the Ring had worked its way into the heart of who he was; that was the exact opposite of alright.

Nevertheless, Frodo did grow calmer for a few minutes and Legolas let loose the breath he had not realised he was holding. But soon after, it began again, and Frodo was flinching from imagined or remembered terrors, lifting his arm as if to shield himself from a blow, letting out broken, fevered moans. Instinctively Legolas looked across to Mithrandir, ready to call him over, but the wizard had remained stock still in his position by Sam and Legolas could see that he was in the middle of a healing trance. Disturbing him now could cause real harm to Sam, however much Frodo seemed to need the wizard's help. Legolas was on his own.

He reached for Frodo's hand again but the hobbit jerked it violently from his grasp with a high-pitched yell. His eyes snapped open and in his gaze was pure panic, the desire to flee etched into every straining muscle of his body.

'Frodo? Frodo, it's alright, it's only me. It's Legolas. Your companion. Your friend.'

But there was no recognition in Frodo's eyes and the face that regarded his as he leaned over to look at it was contorted in anguish and fear. Frodo's hand reached up to clutch for a now non-existent object at his throat.

Legolas felt the panic rising in his own stomach. He had never been a natural healer, and what Frodo was going through now was far beyond his training in the physical wounds of war. He looked over his shoulder, wildly hoping that Aragorn might choose this moment to come back. Aragorn would know what to do- he was the one with the healer's hands, not Legolas. The reassurances he had given Aragorn earlier all seemed flimsy and irresponsible now. What if he failed? What if Aragorn had been wrong and Frodo wasn't really out of danger? Frodo was shouting something unintelligible, thrashing around and kicking. Legolas began to fear that he would injure himself further in his writhing.

 _What then? Should I restrain him? Would that be worse? Would that hurt him more? Elbereth, he looks so afraid. And so am I._

He swallowed back the fear, forcing himself to think. What would Aragorn do? Use _athelas_ , probably, but of course he had the advantage of those kingly healer's hands, and the leaves in the bowl beside Frodo's bed had already released their power. What else? He thought back to what Aragorn had told him earlier.

 _Tell him there's hope._

 _The hope that remains for him is also yours._

And then he knew what he had to do. Slowly, quietly, he began to sing. Every instinct was telling him to reach out a hand in comfort while he did so, but he realised that in Frodo's current state the touch would be interpreted as an attack, so he clasped his hands together to stop himself from doing this, knelt by Frodo's ear, and sang. He sang of the sea, of the call of the gulls, of the dance of the sunlight on the waves, of the anticipation as you first taste the salt in the air, of the vast eternity summoning you as you gaze at the horizon. He sang of the thrill of journeying towards a home you've never seen but always known, of the bittersweet moment of leaving the land where you were raised, of the glory of the sunrise on the ocean as it reveals to you the faint outlines of the far-off shores you seek. At first he thought it wasn't working, as Frodo seemed to be closed off to his surroundings, wrapped up in his private agonies. But, almost without consciously deciding to, he let the song grow louder, more urgent, more plaintive, and he felt a flutter of excitement as he thought he saw Frodo's movements begin to slow. Then, when nothing further seemed to change, he thought he had imagined it. But as he continued to sing, the hobbit wrapped his arms around himself, trembling, and stopped trying to bat away the phantom enemies which had been assailing him. His shouting diminished under the song into quieter and quieter murmurs until his cracked lips were moving soundlessly. His face was still taut, but it had lost the fixed stare of horror which had distorted it earlier. He curled into himself on his side, turning towards the sound, as if listening. Legolas ended the song on a long, low, melancholy note and stayed completely still while it died away, as if afraid to break the spell. At long last the hobbit lay motionless, his laboured breathing the only sound in the tent. They remained there in a frozen tableau, suspended in the moment, until Frodo's eyes slowly came to rest on Legolas. The panic was gone from them now, but their gaze cut him to the core, such was the hurt and bewilderment they held.

'Frodo?' he whispered hopefully, but the glance appeared to be coincidental and the hobbit did not respond to his name. He shifted onto his back, tremors running through his body, and a single glistening tear rolled down his colourless cheek. Legolas drew in his breath sharply.

'Ai, Frodo.' He felt the tears welling up in his own eyes and blinked them back furiously. He was no use to Frodo if he let this get to him, he chided himself. He picked up a cloth from the assortment healers' tools which lay on the camp stool beside him and very, very cautiously moved it near to Frodo's face. When Frodo did not react, he gently wiped away the tear, half expecting him to shy away from the contact. He did not, though, and bolstered by this, Legolas moistened the cloth then brushed away the film of sweat which had formed over Frodo's forehead during the last episode. Frodo ever so slightly relaxed his hands where they gripped his upper arms as he huddled into himself.

'That's it,' Legolas encouraged him, though unsure of whether or not the hobbit could hear him. Frodo's hands eased a little more, and Legolas began to straighten out the blankets, which had ended up in a twisted pile at the end of the bed as a result of Frodo's fit. Seeing the heavily bandaged right hand sickled in an awkward clawlike shape over Frodo's left arm, Legolas winced again at its obviously painful position and decided that he seemed settled enough to accept him moving it.

'Come on, Frodo, you'll hurt yourself like that. Trust me, let me help you move it. Just a little further? You don't need to protect yourself now. It's safe. I promise.'

He was barely aware of what he was saying but some part of his mind recognised that his babbling was more for his own sake than for Frodo's. At first Frodo resisted his attempts to prise the hand away from his shoulder, edging just slightly away from him and gripping tighter, and he drew back, nervous about causing any more damage or intruding too far. He steeled himself and tried again, sliding his long fingers under the hobbit's bony wrist and gently easing the hand away from its quarry. Frodo yielded this time and the arm went limp as Legolas replaced the injured hand on its supporting cushion on top of the blankets. Frodo's left arm slipped from where it had been braced at his right shoulder and he gave a shudder as he finally relaxed.

'Good, Frodo, that's better. Thank you.'

He was almost dizzy with the relief as he knelt again by Frodo's side. Frodo's breathing had returned almost to normal now, though it was slightly shallow. On the whole he looked peaceful, until you saw that awful expression in his eyes. He glanced nervously over to Mithrandir and Sam, but they were both still motionless and seemed completely unaffected by the recent excitement. As he sat back to watch over Frodo, he was reminded of his first encounter with hobbits in Imladris. He had been baffled by these creatures, grown men the size of children, and had thought how small and vulnerable they appeared. His journeys since then had acquainted him with their resilience, their courage, their optimism and their determination to fight, to the point where their size hardly figured any longer in his thinking about them. Watching Frodo now though, his first impressions of hobbits came rushing back. Frodo looked so small, childlike, lost in the expanse of this camp bed designed for a Gondorian soldier. Hardly realising what he was doing, he tucked in the blankets more securely around Frodo, then continued to watch and wait.

The first time the sound came, it was so quiet that even with elven hearing Legolas could not distinguish what it was. He leaned over the hobbit again, wondering if he had tried to speak.

'What is it, Frodo?'

The second time it was unmistakeable. It was a sob. Frodo begun to cry, softly, and Legolas reached for his hand again. Frodo seized Legolas' hand and clutched it in a crushing hold, desperate for the physical contact he had thrown off in fear earlier. The nightmares had transformed now from terror to despair, Legolas realised, and he felt utterly helpless in the face of such distress.

'Frodo, it's alright. It's gone now, it's all over. You have nothing to fear any more.'

The tears were rolling thick and fast down Frodo's cheeks and he was crying in gasping sobs. He made no sign that he had heard anything. Even if he had, Legolas realised, the fact that the Ring had gone might be part of the problem. Though destroying the despicable thing had been their aim for so long, it had inevitably taken a hold on the Ringbearer's mind.

 _The emptiness he must be feeling. The sense of losing part of himself. Ai Elbereth what can I do?_

 _Tell him there's hope._

He said the words, simply.

'There is hope, Frodo.' He reached up with a cloth in his free hand to wipe away Frodo's tears, which made no sign of stopping.

 _The hope that remains for him is also yours._

He took a deep breath, and then he knew. He knew that to alleviate Frodo's pain he would have to plunge deep into his own.

'Shall I tell you what hope looks like, Frodo?'

And for the first time since he had heard the scream of the gull at Pelargir, he began to verbalise the yearning which, with the ruthless military efficiency born of centuries of under the Shadow of Dol Guldur, he had kept locked within himself for so long.

'Hope looks like a ship. It's a beautiful ship with tall masts and a grey hull glistening with tiny silver droplets of seawater. It's lying in a harbour in the Grey Havens, and there's a wind rippling through its sails, and it feels like the entire ship is quivering with excitement. It's like a skittish horse or pony eager to set out on its journey. It can't wait to go, and neither can you. You stand on the deck and you feel the swell of the waves through the planks at your feet and you taste the salt in the air and then at last you know. You know that you're going home. And you know that the emptiness, the feeling of not quite belonging to the world you once knew, you know that all of it will end and at long last you will be at peace. You're on the path to a place where there is healing for your wounds, rest for your weariness and comfort for your distress. Not oblivion- you will still be you, scars and all- but rest, real, wonderful rest.'

As he spoke, the hobbit's sobs ebbed away and his eyes grew distant. As Frodo's tears stopped flowing, though, Legolas could no longer contain his own, and they rolled silently down his cheeks as he continued, the words tumbling out of his mouth seemingly without the intervention of his conscious mind.

'You're not alone, Frodo. I know what it is to feel yourself not whole. Perhaps you wonder what there is left for you now your quest is complete. I'm telling you that if you come back to us through this shadow, there is friendship and fellowship in Middle Earth for you yet. I have lived with emptiness, and I have seen that it cannot consume all, and the bonds between people can resist it, at least for a time. And then, when you are ready to take it, there is the ship that will carry you to find healing. Perhaps you will take your ship before I take mine, but I know that there will be a ship for both of us when we choose it, and that is the hope that helps us live fully, even when it feels like there's nothing left but emptiness.'

Frodo's tears had ceased, and his hand relaxed its vice-like grip around Legolas' fingers. With his other hand, which was trembling, Legolas laid aside the cloth and began to stroke Frodo's curly head of hair.

'I was wrong on Caradhras, Frodo,' he whispered through his tears. 'You never needed me to find the sun. I think you're going to get to it before me. There is hope for you, because you will sail into the West and catch the sun before it sets and find your peace in the Undying Lands. And perhaps, one day, I will come and find you there.'

Legolas caught a glimpse of Frodo's eyes before they fluttered closed. The expression in them now, though still troubled, held a hint of calm which had not been there before. His fingers loosened and let Legolas' hand slip free, and the Legolas noted with a sense of awe that he finally seemed to have settled into sleep. He remained there, stroking Frodo's head, as he allowed the last of his own tears to work themselves out. To speak of the desire to sail, even to aim to kindle it in another's heart, when he knew that for the sake of those mortals he loved, he would remain in this land for perhaps a century or more; that was a wrenching sorrow which throbbed like a physical pain at his core. Yet the tears flowed less for the inevitable pain of the wait and more for the captivating beauty of the journey home he had described. He had sung of the longing before and tended to break into song whenever it was discussed, because when he sang he could lose himself in the melody, feeling that he was singing of the hearts of all his people and thereby leaving its personal consequences implicit. This was the first time that he had spoken aloud in so much detail of this yearning, his own yearning to sail, with the expectation of its fulfilment, and he had found it almost overwhelming. Alone and with his hand gently resting on a sleeping hobbit's head, at last he allowed himself to experience the call of the sea and everything it entailed.

By the time Aragorn returned, Legolas had gathered himself and resumed a kneeling position at the bedside. He was still stroking Frodo's head, humming softly. Aragorn quickly felt Frodo's forehead and his pulse, then frowned, laid a hand on Frodo's chest and closed his eyes. Legolas watched and waited, his throat constricting in fear, but when Aragorn opened his eyes, they shone with wonder.

'Legolas, I never knew you were such a healer!'

He shook his head. 'I'm not a healer. I never have been. Just a sympathetic fellow patient, in this case.'

Aragorn looked at his friend more closely and noticed for the first time the tearstains which Legolas had been too distracted to wipe away. He looked back at the hobbit sleeping peacefully between them.

'Sometimes there's little difference. What did you do?'

'Exactly what you asked me to. I told him there's hope. And Mithrandir helped me to realise that the hope he needed was also mine.'

Aragorn walked around Frodo and knelt by Legolas' side.

'The hope of sailing to the Undying Lands?'

Legolas nodded, not trusting himself to say anything more. He didn't need to. Wordlessly, Aragorn pulled him into a hug. Legolas finally moved his hand away from Frodo's head as he returned the embrace.

'Le _hannon,'_ Aragorn murmured, and Legolas realised that Aragorn was thanking him for far more than calming Frodo. He could not find the words to respond to this, but Aragorn felt the arms around him tighten briefly, and he understood.

They sprang apart immediately when they heard a low moan from the figure on the bed. Legolas immediately returned his hand to the top of Frodo's head.

'I'm sorry, Frodo. It's alright. I'm still here. I'm won't leave you. Ara- Strider is going to look after you.'

And then, more to himself than to Frodo. 'We have Estel now.'

Aragorn swallowed hard as he watched Legolas move his fingers soothingly through the unkempt curls.

'I think Estel got here before I did.'

And he looked on in astonishment as Frodo relaxed into silent sleep again. He raised his eyebrows at his friend.

'Not a healer, Legolas?'

Legolas turned his face away quickly, but Aragorn could have sworn that he glimpsed a flush of pride there.

'Perhaps I'm learning.'

FINIS


End file.
